Contested Legacy: The Memory of ‘76 and the Stakes for Public History

Michael Hattem’s The Memory of '76: The Revolution in American History (Yale, 2024) offers a sharp and insightful exploration of how Americans have remembered—and purposefully reshaped—the legacy of the Revolution. It is a book that feels urgently relevant, not just for public historians but for anyone grappling with the way history is wielded as both a mirror and a weapon in today’s cultural battles.

Hattem’s central argument is that the Revolution’s memory has never been a fixed narrative. From the founders themselves to abolitionists, suffragists, and Cold Warriors, every generation has fought to claim the Revolution’s meaning for its own purposes. This isn’t a history of the Revolution, but rather a history of what the Revolution has meant to Americans over time, and the clarity with which Hattem untangles these threads makes the book a crucial resource for anyone in public history.

One of its greatest strengths is its accessibility. Hattem skillfully traces how different groups—from Federalists to civil rights leaders—reinterpreted the Revolution across U.S. history, demonstrating how memory has always been contested terrain. His succinct explanation of originalism, placing it within this broader evolution of Revolutionary memory, is particularly valuable. Hattem reveals originalism as not a faithful adherence to the founders but a modern ideological project designed to weaponize the past in service of present-day power.

That’s where the book shines: in connecting the past’s deliberate manipulations to today’s political culture. Hattem shows how Revolutionary memory has been used not just to unify but to exclude, constructing a narrow vision of national identity that erased enslaved people, Indigenous nations, and women. Public historians would do well to use this book as a reminder of the stakes involved in countering myths and broadening historical narratives.

Still, the book has blind spots. While it examines the Revolution’s emergence as an ideological touchstone during the Cold War with precision, it skips over its purposeful deployment by the U.S. government during World War II as propaganda, a moment where Revolutionary memory became a tool for rallying national unity. Hattem’s analysis of the Cold War’s reframing is excellent, but bridging that gap would have given the book even greater resonance.

What lingers most is Hattem’s framing of Revolutionary memory as both a product and a process. He doesn’t just chart its evolution; he asks us to think about what’s at stake when we allow myths to ossify into untouchable truths. For public historians, that’s the core of our work: dismantling comfortable lies to reveal the messy, often uncomfortable realities beneath.

The Memory of '76 doesn’t just chronicle how we remember the Revolution. It challenges us to interrogate why we remember it the way we do—and whose interests those memories serve. It’s essential reading for anyone invested in public history’s role in confronting the narratives that continue to shape our present.